What Happens After Dark - Drarry

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New word count: 1.2k
Date (re)published: November 4th, 2020
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— Wednesday - Occlumency - 4:57pm —

"Don't be stupid, Potter. Block my mind!"

Occlumency was Harry's least favorite time of the week. It didn't help motivate the little will you have to do much other than sleep when someone insulted you for two hours straight, and it certainly didn't make it any better it was with Snape, of all people.

Harry felt a familiar tingle, and then felt Snape pushing his way into his mind, one memory at a time. They were ripped from his mind to Snape's, so he didn't know what he'd lost until it was back. He didn't like the feeling. It reminded him of what he could imagine the Dementor's Kiss would be like.

His head throbbed as he tried as much as he could to prevent anymore memories escape, but they slipped through his fingers like smoke. He was grasping for something, anything, to hold on to, but his fingers were grabbing at fog.

With a thud, he fell, gasping for air even though it was the Professor who had resurfaced .

"Some interesting things are going on in your mind, Potter. Some too intimate for my taste, but interesting all the same." Snape's voice was monotoned and slow. It sounded like a snake, if you got rid of the part where the S' were drawn on for long portions of time.

"Staythefuckoutofmymind," Harry mumbled angrily under his breath as he attempted to stand on his wobbly legs. His knees were as jelly was, unable to stay upright when he had to rely on them to support his weight.

"Annunciate your words, Potter."

"I'll see you next week, Professor," Harry grumbled before exiting the Potions Classroom rather quickly for being in such a sluggish state. He stumbled a few times, trying to recomposed his body, which he wasn't sure had been composed to begin with.

As soon as the fresh air of the corridor hit his face, Harry knew he couldn't keep up whatever it was Snape called "Occlumency" because this definitely wasn't the way to do it. This was just torture, and torture wasn't going to teach them anything about Voldemort.

He ventured toward the Gryffindor Dormitories, but was distracted by the Headmaster's office. It seemed warm and inviting; it reminded him of a cozy blanket after a freezing shower of rain.

Harry wondered if Snape would look like a drowned rat after a rain storm, or if his greasy hair would repel the water. It made for two very terrifying images.

Harry went inside of the office, and promised himself it was only going to be for a moment. He was only going in to ask about Occlumency, and for no other reason—and by 'ask' he meant complain, and by complain he mean snitch.

But he was there for hours. He went in with the idea that he was going to report Snape for his unfair ideals and methods, and he did, but after a while, he ended up spilling all of his pent up frustrations onto the Headmaster's shoulders. He ranted about the summer with at Dursley's house, Sirius's death impacting his daily life, and anything under the surface of the sun. He ranted about not knowing where Malfoy was, which was something that he hadn't known had been effecting him so much.

"Harry." Dumbledore's voice reminded Harry of a puffy cloud. It had so much air, yet it blocked out the sun behind it. "I do believe a visit to Madam Pomfrey might be beneficial. You seem quite distraught."

Harry was baffled. He wasn't that crazy, was he? He thought that Professor Dumbledore was his friend, his ally. "Headmaster, with all due respect-"

"I just it would be nice, that's all. It's not necessary right now, unless you feel that it is."

Harry agreed quietly and said his goodbyes before exiting with his head laying low. Even Dumbledore thought he was crazy, and that man was off his bloody rocker.

•••

— Wednesday - Room of Requirement - 11:52pm —

Harry had been sitting in the Come and Go Room for nearly three hours when he heard a faint jiggle of the doorknob. He wasn't worried, knowing that the room would keep out unwanted visitors. Whomever it was—probably that damned Sixth Year couple that snogged all over the corridors—they could fuck right off.

Harry wiped away a few tears that had fallen onto his face and sat further back into the sofa cushions behind him. They were soft and cradled his body. His mind had been wandering, as per usual, but really, he had just been wondering. Wondering where Malfoy was, if Buckbeak was doing alright, what the Dursley's were having for their third dessert that night. These were all important questions to Harry.

The jiggling at the door continued, and soon it pushed open, allowing in a tall, lanky figure. Harry's first thought was that he was going to die, because that was always his first thought when faced with this sort of situation. However, when his eyes adjusted to the figure, he could see that it was, in fact, Malfoy.

"Potter!" The blond yelped in alarm and confusion as his eyes widened. "This is my place to throw a pity-party."

"Well I was here first," Harry muttered, standing, as if ready for one of their bullshit fights. He knew that he needed to be prepared for this beforehand, especially since he swear that he had vertigo from his lesson with Snape. "I earned it."

"Then why didn't you lock the door?"

Harry rolled his eyes, before realizing that Malfoy was probably right. He must have forgotten to specify that he wanted the door locked. He was usually forgetting things like that lately. "Meant to."

"Meant to doesn't mean you did."

Harry rubbed his eyes a bit. "Well it's been lovely talking to you, but unless you have a genuine reason to be here, I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"My reason is genuine. I have to have a pity-party."

Harry only blinked for a moment, before sitting back down on the sofa. "This is ridiculous. I was here first."

"And I was here second, but no one fucking cares, now do they, Potter?"

"I don't care about your fucking pity-party."

"I don't care about your melodramatic episode. It's a wonder I haven't kicked your arse out of here yet." Harry imagined that comical image before Malfoy went on. "Get out."

Harry was going to protest, but then he saw that Malfoy had something shimmery on his face, just below his eyes, and he decided that he would rather not be known as the person who got his arse kicked by a crying Malfoy. "Listen," he tried civilly. "I'm just going to sleep on the bed over there. You do what you're going to do, and I'll stay out of your way."

Malfoy considered the deal, before nodding. He closed his eyes for a moment, and then a large partition appeared between the back of the sofa and the foot of the bed. "Tell no one of this," he warned. "We go back to being enemies tomorrow."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

•••